


Lois Lane-Hart

by Mintey



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, Comfort/Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 11:37:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3935359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mintey/pseuds/Mintey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wonders if Lois Lane ever felt like this: scared and anxious, waiting for the most important man in the world to return home. Because the whole world may rely on him, but he is, and always will be, Eggsy's whole world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lois Lane-Hart

Eggsy has always thought Gothic novels were quite shit, if he's being honest. He's stopped telling people this, because they tend to automatically assume that Eggsy's upbringing, education, or demeanor disqualify him from holding an informed opinion on the matter. They assume he just doesn't understand the true poetry the words bring to the page, or that he can't appreciate the foreboding details and literary technique. No, it's quite the contrary, actually - Eggsy loves the attention to detail in these novels, loves the beauty in the tragedy. But, he has to admit, those stuck-up, literature-loving asses are right about one thing: he hates the way the weather foreshadows the terror to come.

He hates it, because if that is true of reality, tonight is going to be the worst night of Eggsy's life.

The rain was already coming down in sheets by the time Eggsy made it home from the shops today, and that was hours ago. Somewhere between then and now, he stopped trying to listen to music, or watch TV, because the sound of the rain pounding against the roof and windows has drowned out everything but the loudest of wind gusts, which every so often send the shutters banging against the windows. A crack of thunder sounds somewhere in the distance, followed by lightning illuminating the empty streets outside and reflecting off the thick fall of rain blocking out everything from vision. 

Eggsy shifts uncomfortably on the couch. Harry still isn't home. He was supposed to be home earlier today, before Eggsy. He was supposed to be waiting for when Eggsy returned. He's not here, and Eggsy can't help the sinking feeling in his gut. Eggsy sighs and shifts again, trying to find a comfortable position with no avail. He can't seem to sit still, not when Harry's out there, not when Harry isn't home. _He_ _was supposed to be home_.

Letting out a deep breath, Eggsy reaches for his cup of tea, only to find it empty. He stands up, making his way to the kitchen, for lack of something better to do. It takes little effort and no brainpower to pour more steaming water from the kettle into his cup and drop in a teabag. He knows that Harry hates when he uses teabags, but Eggsy is still in the habit of buying the cheapest option. Plus, it's calming to dunk the bag in and out and watch the deep brown color of the tea seep out of the bag, permeating the clear colorless liquid of the water.

As he waits for the tea to finish steeping, he stares out the kitchen window into the stormy night. He catches himself in the act, chastising himself for the behavior and wondering if he could get anymore cliché. He sets the cup on the marble counter and opens the cabinet in search of sugar. It's the wrong cabinet, he realizes, forgetting that Harry had re-organized the kitchen last week, instead finding himself staring at liquor, not the sugar he'd been looking for. Eggsy catches sight of the bottle of gin, and his thoughts begin to drift.

It makes him think of the night before Harry left for Kentucky, when the two of them had been making martinis in the kitchen. When Eggsy had drank one too many, feeling tipsy despite his usually high level of alcohol tolerance. When he had leaned in a little too close to Harry, flickering his gaze between meeting deep brown eyes and pretty pink lips. That had been their first kiss, and almost their last. Harry had pushed Eggsy gently away at first, but Eggsy persisted, earning him a second, third, fourth kiss. 

That night, Eggsy slept in Harry's bed, instead of in the guest room as planned, and woke to a misty sunrise. Rain was drying on the sidewalk when he left that morning, feeling more confident than ever, both about his training and his newly-formed relationship with Harry. Of course, then he had refused to shoot the dog, and Harry had gone off too Kentucky, and everything had gone to shit.

Kentucky was the only time Harry had ever come home late, and it was because he was in the hospital, with a hole in his head, barely clinging to life. Eggsy can't even count the number of times he thought Harry was dead in those forty-eight hours: because of the initial shot, because of the doctors' predictions, because of the brief moment when the heart monitor had flatlined and nurses came rushing in, forcing Eggsy out in the process. They managed to stabilize Harry, of course, but nobody thought to tell Eggsy this until a whole hour later. By then, he had worked himself into a right mess in the waiting room, rubbing the tears out of his eyes and snot out of his nose, begging for the thousandth time that day to  _please just bring him back_.

Eggsy closes the liquor cabinet and opens the right one. He tries not to think about the fact that Harry could be dying, and there wouldn't be anything Eggsy could do to help. Harry could be already dead, and he wouldn't even know it. His hand tightens on the cabinet handle, and he hurriedly removes the teabag with one hand and mixes the sugar into the tea with the other. Disgusted with himself for letting his thoughts conjure up such ridiculous ideas, Eggsy wraps the teabag in its string and drops it forcefully into the trash.

Eggsy pads his way back into the living room and sits down on the floor this time with his cup of tea. He sips at it absentmindedly, watching time pass by the clock on the wall, one tick at a time. His mind has turned into an endless mantra of  _where is he, where is he, where is he_. He refuses to think about the worst, but it keeps creeping in nevertheless. 

He wonders if Lois Lane ever felt like this: scared and anxious, waiting for the most important man in the world to return home. Because the whole world may rely on him, but he is, and always will be, Eggsy's whole world. Because Harry is supposed to be home. Because  _he's not_.

By the time Eggsy finishes his tea, another hour has passed, and his eyes feel heavy and tired. He returns to the kitchen, washes the cup, and goes into the living room to turn off the lights. Before he can flick the switch, however, the lights flicker. They stabilize, with Eggsy's hand still hovering over the switch. Eggsy breathes a sigh of relief, but the feeling is short-lived when the lights flicker again, once, twice, and then everything is dark. Eggsy flicks off the switch anyway.

The hand on the clock marches steadily onward, ticking unheard and unseen except for a vague shadow barely visible to Eggsy in the blackness of the room. His fingertips brush the wall, and he makes his way towards the staircase, feeling his way through the dark. He has one foot on the first step when there's a knock at the door. Eggsy freezes. He reaches for his gun, only to remember he left it upstairs, on the nightstand, while he showered. 

Another knock. Eggsy curses his stupidity, carefully removing his foot from the step and inching towards the door with feather-light steps. His heart is thundering in his chest - yes, he's an expertly trained spy working for an international intelligence agency, but it's past midnight in the middle of a storm and there's a stranger at the door. He's allowed to be scared. Scratch that, downright terrified. 

Eggsy is pressed up against the door, his hand on the knob, eye against the peephole, when he hears a scratching sound, like whoever is outside is trying to pick the lock. He stands up on his toes to peer outside, but without any streetlights or moonlight, he can't see anything except a soaked silhouette. He weighs the risks and considers the possible outcomes before deciding on a course of action: he opens the door.

For a moment, he simply stands in the doorway, quaking in slippers and hoping some vengeful target hadn't tracked him down. The rain continues to pour, pounding against the street outside and flooding into a stream in the lowest parts of the road. It's louder now that the door is open, and it nearly drowns out the voice of the person standing opposite to Eggsy. He can just make out the words over the dull roar of the storm.

"May I come in?"

"Harry!" shouts Eggsy. Forgetting himself entirely, he steps outside to engulf the other man in a hug, and instantly finds himself soaked. "Let's get you inside," he says, pulling away and leading Harry into the house.

Harry shuts the door behind them and hangs his coat and unopened umbrella on the hook. Eggsy finds it amusing that for all the Kingsman umbrella can do, it can't withstand the havoc of wind gusts, thus rendering it useless on nights like tonight. 

"I must admit, I'm beginning to see the benefit for hiding a spare key," Harry says as he bends down to untie his shoes. "I seem to have misplaced mine."

Eggsy doesn't respond. He takes a seat on the stairs, and crosses his arms. Now that his eyes are adjusted to the dark, he can see Harry fairly clearly, and he can see the frown creasing Harry's features.

"You're mad," states Harry. He finishes removing his shoes and heads to the kitchen, flicking on the light switch as he goes, which of course does nothing. 

"Power's out."

Harry turns the switch back off, but continues into the kitchen anyway. Eggsy doesn't follow him, choosing to remain seated on the stairs instead. He knows he's being a tad childish, but now that he knows Harry is home and safe, he can't help but feel annoyed at Harry's unexplained tardiness. A moment later, soft yellow light is flickering off the walls as Harry returns with a candle. His face is concerned as he offers his free hand to Eggsy.

"C'mon," he says, as Eggsy takes his hand. 

Eggsy follows Harry up the stairs and into their bedroom, breaking their point of contact to find dry clothes from the dresser. Harry sets the candle on the nightstand and begins removing his wet clothes, piece by piece, hanging them on a hangar and leaving them to try in the bathroom. Eggsy wordlessly hands Harry a pair of boxers and a t-shirt before heading into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

When he returns, Harry is already in bed, candle blown out and covers pulled up over his shoulders. Eggsy fumbles in the dark to find the pair of dry clothes he set out for himself, and changes clumsily, tripping a couple times as he tries to remove his sopping pants. He throws them in the tub, not bothering to hang them up, an action that will surely earn him a scolding tomorrow, but all Eggsy can think about now is climbing into bed and cuddling with Harry.

Except, after Eggsy climbs into bed, Harry remains with his back facing Eggsy, rather than turning over to embrace Eggsy as he usually does. Eggsy gives a deep sigh and burrows himself in the blankets, feeling more alone than he had the entire night. It is his fault that Harry is now mad as well - he had been the one to start the feud in the first place, after all.

"I'm not angry," says Harry, and Eggsy wonders if he said his thoughts out loud.

"Did I-" Eggsy begins.

Harry shifts to face Eggsy, who is peeking out through a small hole in the blankets. Gently, Harry lifts a hand to Eggsy's face and pushes the blankets back to see him more clearly. "Whenever you think I'm angry, you swaddle yourself in the covers, as you are now. Did you know that?"

Eggsy gives a small, slow shake of his head. It shifts the blankets and peels them back further from his face. Harry brings a hand up and gently cups his cheek, rubbing it softly with his thumb, while Eggsy tries not to lean too much into the touch.

"I wish you would explain what's bothering you," Harry whispers. 

Even in the darkness, Eggsy can see that Harry is upset. His eyes are large and unblinking in the dark, and his lips are pressed into a sad frown. Eggsy lightly places his own hand over the one Harry is resting on his cheek. Biting his lip, Eggsy gives a small shrug.

"You were late."

Harry visibly startles, but makes no move to speak.

"You were late, and you didn't call."

The admission has Harry whispering a soft, "Oh, Eggsy," before pressing a kiss to Eggsy's forehead. He slides his hand out from under Eggsy's and moves it higher, to Eggsy's temples, and scratches his fingers gingerly through Eggsy's hair.

"Where were you, Harry?" continues Eggsy. "I had no idea where you were. For all I know, you could've been hurt. Fuck, Harry, you could've... You could've been dead. Or, you could've been dying in some hospital somewhere-" Eggsy hiccups slightly, tears spilling from his eyes despite his poor attempt to conceal how distraught he truly is. 

Harry cuts off Eggsy's stream of words by pulling him in tightly against his chest. "If it's any comfort, the weather caused travel delays, and Merlin was unable to fly in such conditions. We had to drive instead, and even then, as I'm sure you must have noticed, visibility was limited."

Eggsy hiccups again. "You could've called."

"And for that, I am truly sorry," says Harry. "I didn't realize..." He trails off when Eggsy looks up at him with watery eyes. "Next time, I'll be sure to call."

Harry shifts the both of them so that Eggsy is curled tightly against him, head resting over his heart. He adjusts the blankets and slides and arm around Eggsy, letting his hand rub comfortingly over the younger man's shoulder. 

"Goodnight, Eggsy."

"Goodnight, Harry," replies Eggsy. "And, thanks. I'm sorry for overreacting."

"Nonsense," Harry says. "Even Lois Lane worried for Superman from time to time."

Eggsy sits up and leans on his elbow, raising an eyebrow at Harry. "You calling yourself Superman?"

"Perhaps."

He settles back down against Harry's chest. "You don't need to be no Superman, you know."

"And why's that?"

"Because you're Harry fucking Hart. And that's always been enough for me." 

They fall first into silence, and then into sleep, and sometime in the night, the rain finally breaks and sheds moonlight over the two sleeping men.

**Author's Note:**

> In which Eggsy is thinking a bit too much like Catherline Morland, and I'm actually using my English major for something useful. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [eggsyunwinhart](http://eggsyunwinhart.tumblr.com)!


End file.
